Venturing into uncharted territory, mother and award-winning journalist Meredith Maran takes us inside teenagers' hearts, minds, and central nervous systems to explore the causes and consequences of our nation's drug crisis. In these pages we get to know the kids, the parents, the therapists, and the drug treatment programs at their best and worst. We're face-to-face with seventeen-year-old Mike, whose life revolves around selling, smoking, and snorting speed; fifteen-year-old Tristan -- the boy next door -- who can't get enough pot, pills, or vodka; and sixteen-year-old Zalika, a runaway, crack dealer, and prostitute since the age of twelve. Combining powerful on-the-street reporting and groundbreaking research, Dirty is essential reading for every parent and professional who works with or cares about children or teenagers.

Prologue 1 Introduction

5

(14)

PART 1: GETTING HIGH

Why Do Kids Do Drugs?

Running on Empty

19

(17)

Why Are We Here?

36

(17)

Slinging Rock, Turning Tricks

53

(20)

PART 2: GETTING CLEAN

What Do We Do for Kids Who Do Drugs?

Good Morning, Family

73

(27)

Sobriety High

100

(27)

Juvenile Drug Court

127

(30)

PART 3: TESTING DIRTY

Does Any of It Work?

Good-bye, Family

157

(24)

High on Sobriety

181

(22)

Moving Violations

203

(24)

PART 4: GETTING OUT

How Can We Get Kids Off Drugs?

Self-Surrender

227

(19)

High Again

246

(17)

On the Run Again

263

(16)

Afterword

279

(12)

Resources for Parents

291

(10)

Notes

301

(8)

Acknowledgments

309

(3)

About the Author

312

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Dirty
A Search for Answers Inside America's Teenage Drug Epidemic

Chapter One

Mike

Running on Empty

"Butler to Release! Butler to Release!" Mike heard the guard's voice crackling through the two-way radio on his teacher's desk. "You're out of here, Mike," Ms. Johnson called to him across the Juvenile Hall classroom.

Mike high-fived the boys, hugged the girls, then positioned himself in front of the locked unit door. Shifting nervously from one foot to the other, hispulse racing, he jumped when Ms. Johnson buzzed the door open for a short, stocky man in a blue Nike turtleneck, black slacks, and black tassel loafers.

"How you doin'?" Danny Ramirez asked Mike.

"Aiight," Mike responded.

Last week Danny had spent a couple hours interviewing Mike for placementat Center Point, a rehab program an hour south of here in San Rafael. Butnow Danny was looking Mike up and down as if he'd never seen him before.

"Ka-ching, ka-ching," Mike thought, watching Danny watching him. "Iknow that's all you care about: that money you think you're gonna get paidfor keeping me locked up."

"Ready to go?" Danny asked.

"Sure," Mike answered. He stifled a grin, thinking, "Dude -- you'reabout to find out how ready."

Danny gestured for Mike to follow him down the walkway that led fromthe units to Release -- as if Mike didn't know the drill, as if he hadn't beenthrough this routine ten times before. As they passed it, neither of themglanced at the Juvenile Hall "Vision Statement" posted on the wall.

The care of children today determines the quality of life tomorrow.

Our vision is that every child experience positive and successful
alternatives, safe surroundings, and caring support.

Since our actions and decisions affect children, our vision is to provide
opportunities for change and the support necessary for change to occur.

A guard buzzed the two of them through the first set of locked doubledoors and into the Personals office. "You're leaving us, Mike. That's great," saidNancy, the nice woman who worked there. She handed Mike a bulky manilaenvelope and the plaid short-sleeved shirt, size 42 blue jeans, and black suededesert boots he'd been wearing when the Santa Rosa cops had handcuffed himand dragged him in here, zombied out and crashing off a three-day crank run.Mike changed in the bathroom, gave Nancy the dingy white T-shirt, navy bluenylon shorts, and beige Converse high-tops he'd been wearing ever since. "Idon't want to see you back again, you hear?" she said.

"Don't worry. You won't," Mike replied distractedly, shaking the envelope'scontents into his hand. He stuffed the ten-dollar bill into his pocket,peering eagerly at the scratched-up screen on his pager. Eleven new messages.Mike's pager had been his lifeline while he'd been on the run fromthe law -- a long stretch that ended three weeks ago.

"You're gonna have to give me that pager and your money when we getto Center Point," Danny warned.

"I know," Mike said. "You wish," he thought. He turned back to Nancy."Thanks for everything," he told her.

She nodded. "Just don't let me see you back here," she repeated. "That'sall the thanks I want."

As Danny and Mike continued down the antiseptic-smelling hallway,they ran into Mary Graves, Mike's probation officer. "You're getting anotherchance, Mike," Mary said, waggling a finger in his face. "If you run thistime, I swear I'll come and look for you myself."

"I won't," Mike waved her off. Of all the POs he'd ever had, Mary wasthe worst: old, mean, and -- just like the others -- full of empty threats. Hefollowed Danny through the last set of locked doors and into the crampedroom where parents were checked in, then searched, on visiting nights: firststop on the way in, last stop on the way out for every visitor and "resident"of the Sonoma County Juvenile Justice Center.

"Bye, Mike. Be good, okay?" said Alice, the woman who sat behind theglass partition there.

"I will," he said.

Alice pushed the buzzer and Mike burst into the hot, sunny June morning.Before Mike had even inhaled his first breath of fresh air, Danny grabbedhim by the elbow and led him past the POs' cars in the parking lot -- ten identicalFord Tauruses with state license plates -- and unlocked his Ford Ranger.

"Your buddy ran on me yesterday," Danny said as they fastened theirseat belts.

"I know," Mike replied. Within hours of his friend Garth's escape yesterday,word had traveled back to the Hall: Garth had taken off into the streetsof downtown San Rafael as soon as he hit Center Point's front door.

"You're not gonna do that to me, are you, Mike?"

"Why would I run, man?" Mike answered. "I'm done running."

"You better be." Danny turned right out of the Juvenile Hall parking lotonto Pythian Road and cruised slowly past the sprawling Zen-landscapedgrounds of the St. Francis Winery.

"If he turns left, I'll stay," Mike told himself as they approached theintersection of Pythian Road and Highway 12. A left would take themtoward Sonoma, away from Santa Rosa and the safety of Mike's old stompinggrounds. Experience had taught Mike not to try to outrun the law inunfamiliar territory.

"If he turns right, I'll bounce," Mike decided. A right would bring themstraight into the Santa Rosa suburb of Rincon Valley, home of Mike'sgrandma and most of his doper friends. He wasn't sure how Grandma Myrtlewould react if he showed up at her house on the run again, but he knewexactly what his friends would do: give him a place to crash ...

Dirty
A Search for Answers Inside America's Teenage Drug Epidemic. Copyright © by Meredith Maran. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

Excerpted from Dirty: A Search for Answers Inside America's Teenage Drug Epidemic by Meredith Maran
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